Chapter 4: Fever

I pushed through the storefront door and went up to the counter. I pressed the bell multiple times until the sound of the dings hurt my ears. Mrs. Hudson walked out from the back kitchen, looking annoyed from the noise.

"John! I'm cooking in the back! My goodness!" she complained as she approached the front counter.

"Look at this!" I said with frustration as I pulled scarf out from the bag, "explain this!"

Her face was caught in awe as she recognized the scarf. She knew exactly who it belonged to.

"John, how did you get a hold of that?" she asked sounding upset while her eyes remained fixated on the scarf.

"A doctor at St. Bartholomew's Hospital told me to pick this up today because the bag had my contact information written on it. He assumed it was mine," I flashed her the side of the bag with my name and phone number written across it, "it's not in Sherlock's handwriting. I can't even tell if it's a woman or a man who wrote it. I thought it might have been Molly, but appears she hasn't been working at the hospital since Sherlock's passing."

Mrs. Hudson shook her head slowly from side to side, "It's just odd. For you to be finding all these things Sherlock left behind altogether within a week," she said placing her hand over her mouth in disbelief.

"Yes well…." I placed the scarf back in the bag and placed it on top of the table, "I'm upset even more." I felt the temperature in my blood rise.

"Oh John," she began to say.

"I'm upset!" I slammed my fist into the counter, "I'm upset because…If Sherlock was the one to bring this up to me, why hasn't he come out and shown himself already?! If someone is playing this as a game, I'm not having fun with it! This is a sick joke!"

There was a moment of silence. I stared at the floor boards below, feeling my eyebrows greatly furrow. I heard Mrs. Hudson give a sniffle.

"John, maybe he's alive?" Mrs. Hudson spoke softly as she caught herself tearing up a little.

I looked up towards her, "Maybe?" I said still feeling a small drop of doubt.

"Well this is his scarf. Thought for sure it was buried together with him. After all the funeral services didn't ask for any other clothing for his burial," she recalled.

"Yes, but he was delivered to St. Bartholomew's Hospital first thing during the incident. Someone could have removed his scarf and set it aside. Then found Sherlock's phone, from the roof, to obtain my contact –only weeks later, to decide to give his scarf to me. I still have a feeling it might be Molly, seeing as how she ironically isn't at the hospital," I explained further with great detail.

I thought this through during the taxi ride. The incident passed like lightning, I had forgotten to speak with Molly about what happened to Sherlock. I was caught up sorting things out with Mrs. Hudson, the press, the police, explaining the details to Lestrade, the hospital, and funeral services. Everything was a complete mess, that in order to sort out my mind, I went back to therapy. As much as I could have eased my grievances in writing my blog, I lost my entire motivation to write. I felt completely empty….And alone. It was just like the old days.

I felt a hand pat my left shoulder. I turned my head to look back at Mrs. Hudson. She leaned over the counter to rub my shoulder and give me a small comforting smile. I didn't realize I was caught in my own thoughts.

"John, do what you can, but don't stress on it," she advised me. I gave a huge sigh and she continued to say, "as much as we may question beyond these notes and the scarf, the answer may come to you when you least expect it."

When I least expect it, is that it? Should I distract myself from seeking the truth in all this? When will I get my final answer?

"Whether it's Sherlock who's leaving these objects behind, or someone trying to reach out to you about Sherlock," she explained carefully, "maybe it's best to allow them to keep coming to you till you have all the pieces to figure this out." She moved back to be behind the counter again. She held her smile as she looked to me, and I gave a small polite smile back in return. I felt some slight of ease from her words, but the stab of pain from feeling upset was still there in my heart.

"Cheer up John. It's hard seeing you stress out over this, especially with your condition," she said with great concern.

"I'll be fine," I quickly said. I hope I'm not stressing her out in return with how I reacted earlier, "sorry for slamming the counter a moment ago." Suddenly I heard a loud hiss coming from the back. I had forgotten she was cooking.

"OH MY SOUP!" she cried, "I'll talk to you later John!"

She ran back towards the kitchen in a flash. "Oh it over flowed! Look at this mess!" I heard her complain.

I took the bag off the table and started to walk along with my cane. She has a point; maybe I should stop questioning and allow the answers to come to me. Though, I just remembered, I have to inform Lestrade about the scarf.

Back inside the living room, I sat over in my usual chair. I took out my phone from my pocket and looked at the time; it was officially 11:30 A.M. I went to the message menu and pressed the "New Message" icon. I began to type:

"I found something that I need you to examine. Text me when it's best to meet with you."

Sent.

Lestrade should have my message any minute now, time to wait for his response.

Hours had passed; no response from Lestrade yet. It was already night. I used up my free time looking up emails, watching shows on the television, reading more books on Sherlock's shelf, and drinking some tea. While walking around in the apartment, I realized how cold it turned out be inside. As much as I wore my sweater, I still felt the cold piercing into my skin. My throat started to feel a bit dry too. I touched my forehead; feels very warm. This isn't good, am I coming down with something?

I walked to the medicine cabinet, in the bathroom, opened it. I looked at each of the containers of pills till I found one for fevers. I drank a couple of pills down with some of my left over tea. I should go to bed soon, the effects of feeling drowsy should hit me at any moment now. As soon as I got into bed, I wrapped the covers around me. For what it seemed like a long stretch of silence, I suddenly heard a sound. No...A tune...The tune sounded like...A violin. Where is it coming from?! I sat up and gave a small listen. The tune sounded very close...Too close... Sherlock?!

I ran as fast as I could, following the sound of the tune till I reached Sherlock's room. I quickly pushed through the door and saw a tall figure standing in front of the window, it's back turned towards me. I could recognize the silhouette none other than Sherlock himself! He was wearing his purple collar shirt and black slacks. He was holding his violin and playing it, while slowing swaying from side to side. The song he was playing was "No Other Love"; I could feel the passion he was putting into playing the entire song. I was breathless from the quick rush, but more from seeing his presence, alive in front of me. I was at a loss for words, where do I begin?! How was Sherlock here?! How did he get into the apartment?

"Sh-Sherlock!" I said with a small stutter as drops of my sweat fell down from my forehead. My fever broke out finally.

When he played the last note, he took a pause. He lowered his violin and heaved a great sigh. Then, he dropped his violin to the floor. He turned around carefully and recognized me as his eyes met mine. He gave a huge smile. My eyes widened with surprise. Sherlock hardly ever smiled for anyone.

"I'm sorry John," he first spoke. My lips quivered, what do I say? How are you alive?! I-what can I say?...John think! Hurry! Answer him!

He started to take a few steps towards me, "For weeks, I questioned how much my impulsive suicidal attempt has caused you such great pain," he started to say, "but you must plant this in your mind that I simply did it to protect you and everyone else."

"P-Protect?" I began to say. There's so much I want to say, but I felt so physically and mentally frozen. What's wrong with me?

As soon as I blinked, he stood right in front of me. I could see tears forming at the edge of his eyelids.

"You're a true loyal friend, John. You're the only person in this world, who fully accepts me and continues to believe in me, despite all the suffering I put you through," he confessed, "I owe you such a great deal."

In the million years I believed this wouldn't happen, Sherlock embraced me. Now I was blank out of my mind over what to say. As I fidgeted to pull away, he wouldn't release me. Maybe I should just return the friendly gesture? But THIS! THIS felt very awkward. What is making Sherlock do this? This isn't very normal of him to do. As much as I wanted to punch him in the face for making me upset these past few weeks, I felt such a release. I realized I could feel his heartbeat.

As I slowly raised my arms to embrace him in return, he disappeared. I gasped and stepped back. I looked around me. He's gone! He vanished!

"Sherlock?!" I called, "where'd you go?!" I felt my back touch the wall as I moved back and looked around the room in panic. H-How did that h-happen?!

I quickly felt warmth around my neck and a squeeze on my right shoulder. I heard a whisper in my ear, "I'm sorry John." I recognized it as Sherlock's voice, "I'm always here. I'm always watching over you." Shadows started to pour into the room. I found myself shrouded in complete darkness. I shut my eyes tightly.

I open my eyes. I felt warm sweat across my forehead. I felt a heavy weight at the top of my head. My blankets were wrapped tightly around me, but something else was wrapped around my neck. I pulled out my hand, underneath the covers, to touch it. It was a soft piece of cloth. I pulled the loose end of it to see exactly what it was. Sherlock's scarf was wrapped around my neck! I sat up instantly in shock. I looked around my room. Was that dream real? I check my surroundings. Door is locked, check. Window….Open?!… A small inch of it was open, allowing some air to pour into the room. I remembered shutting and locking my window this morning, before I left. I released the covers around me, got out of bed, and hurried over to the window. I observed the bottom edges and sides of it to check for any smudged traces of dust. To my surprise, the entire window was wiped clean!

~to be continued